


Blue Ink, Black Coffee

by freshnams



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Editor!Viktor, M/M, i literally mf speedwrote this in 2 hours out of spite and projected my issues onto yuuri, i might add in otayuri????? i dont think so tho, i relate to him more than i probably should lol, more chars will b added as time progresses, s/o to nat for proofing this for me ur a blessin beeb, student!yuuri, this will be updated whenever possible but not consistently bc academia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9116128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshnams/pseuds/freshnams
Summary: Yuuri was having a questionable day at best. Then, he just had to bump into the little cousin of an editor from a prestigious publishing house, knock his coffee flying, ruin his favorite shirt, and meet a very important person, all in the span of five minutes. Ah, college.Special thanks to Nat (snowybunby.tumblr.com) for being my lovely beta'er at an ungodly hour of the morning.





	

Yuuri Katsuki was in a bit of a pickle. He stared at his laptop screen, and, oddly enough, the laptop screen stared right back. _Huh_ , he thought, _I wonder why this novel isn’t writing itself._ He checked the clock in the top corner of the screen. Sleek black numbers ticked away at the seconds, saying to him with each passing one, “Ha, slacker. Ha, slacker. Ha, slacker.” His eyes (slightly glazed, at this point) trailed back over the screen to the increasingly irritating text bar bobbing in and out of view. He took a long sip of room temperature coffee, and settled for fixing his vacant stare on the wall in front of him. _They really could have gone with a better color than that nasty greenish-beige,_ he commented to himself. Sigh. Taking out his frustrations through the cafe’s poor paint choices was doing nothing for his writing power, nor his quickly waning belief that he _had_ any writing power at the moment, or had had any to begin with. Around him, life continued bustling. Patrons entered and exited, the espresso machine hissed out steamed milk for someone’s latte (a large with soy milk and “extra vegan”, whatever that meant), a couple in the booth behind him giggled about the day’s shenanigans, in line a tall man with fantastically bright silver hair was yammering in something that was certainly neither English nor Japanese to a broody teenager giving off the most “God, mom, whatever” vibes Yuuri had ever experienced in his twenty-three years here on this planet. Ha. Yuuri remembered his “whatever” phase, which had ended abruptly when his mother said that he’d better get over it lest he not adopt the beloved puppy he wanted so badly. _Vicchan, how I wish you were here with me…_ Yuuri thought back to the most adorable poodle ever, currently residing back in Hasetsu with his parents because, sadly, the UPenn dorm where he was staying did not allow pets. Yuuri yawned. What was he supposed to be writing about, again? Oh, right. Two characters were about to have a life-changing conversation about hopes and dreams and, most importantly, language. His eyes caught the clock again. 6:58 pm. He should start heading back before Phichit calls him in a panic. Ah, Phichit. The best roommate Yuuri could ever ask for. Always looking out for him, no matter what state he was in. Yuuri yawned again, eyes watering as he gently closed the laptop and slid it into his messenger bag. His good friend Takeshi had bought it as a going-away present when he left for the States at the beginning of his five-year program that _should_ (key word there, _should_ ) rocket him out into the world of bilingual authorship directly after graduation. It was really quite nice, the bag; made of now-worn brown leather and canvas, it’d stuck with him through all UPenn had put him through. _Here, I got you an actual bag so you don’t end up with one of those sorry man purses popular over there right now!_ Takeshi had said, and Yuuri was thankful. Satchels had been (a) not within Yuuri’s personal range of taste (b) all the rage when he first got here and (c) the only option for any kind of professional bag upon arrival. But, because of his friend, he was prepared. As he was reminiscing, Yuuri didn’t notice the quickly approaching bodies of Silver Man and Angsty Kid. _Oh man, I wish I was back in Hastesu. Nothing would be better than a nice soak in the Onse-_

Thud.

_Splat._

“Hey, you, what the fuck?” Yuuri found himself butt on the floor, glasses missing and a brand-new, steaming stain on his brand-new shirt, looking directly into the coldest pair of eyes he had ever seen in his life. It took him a second, but Yuuri realized what was happening. Judging from the empty travel cup and physical embodiment of seething irritation holding on to it, the foamy, frothy mess on his shirt was the result of a truly unfortunate collision. _Good question,_ Yuuri thought, and the unnatural silence of the cafe and the situation at hand began to sink in.

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention, it’s totally my fault! Can I buy you a new drink?” Yuuri cringed at himself for the last question. He knew he was well and truly broke in honest college-student fashion, but, hospitality takes precedence over his wallet.

“Of fucking COURSE you can! My god! Old people these days, I can’t even believe that...” Ah, okay. Teenage Angst was off on a tangent and Yuuri was out about nine more dollars. He sighed. Guess it’s ramen again tonight. Yuuri scrambled around for his glasses, and life continued on. The espresso machine hissed out more milk, muffled chatter picked up again, and a hand appeared in front of Yuuri’s face.

“Need any help?” Yuuri looked from the hand, up the sweater-clad arm to the face of the person it was attached to, and felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. He locked gazes with the single most beautiful person he had ever seen. A perfectly sculpted face was home to the most gorgeous pair of crystal-clear blue eyes, framed excellently by a brilliant drape of silver bangs ( _Why is his hair silver?_ Yuuri asked himself. He asked himself a better question. _Do I care?_ ) on skin that looked smoother than marble, finished off by pink, ever-so-kissable lips that were moving. Oh. Pretty Boy was saying something. “Sir? Sir, your glasses are cracked. Would you like me to pay for the replacement lenses?” Oh, my god, Yuuri realized, Pretty Boy’s voice was slightly accented, thick and smooth like molten chocolate and oh, my god! There were spiderweb cracks crawling their way across the breadth of his lenses.

“N-no, it’s okay. I, uh, I’ve had this pair for a while and, um, I have a, uh, a new pair coming in the mail.” Semi-coherent. Nice. Yuuri gave himself an internal thumbs-up for not completely gaping and blubbering like a dumbfounded fish. He grabbed the hand in front of him and was welcomed by a comfortably warm, solid grasp that pulled him right to his feet. And right into the fuzzy, cream expanse of Pretty Boy’s sweatered chest. Yuuri felt like he was about to die right then and there from embarrassment. The worst part? Pretty boy smelled really, _really_ nice. The kind of smell that welcomes you home from a long day of work to a cup of tea and a kiss. My, did Yuuri wish that thought was foreshadowing. Oh well. Pretty Boy stepped back and released Yuuri’s hand.

“I’m terribly sorry for the way my little cousin was addressing you. He’s a good kid, really, but not the most eloquent at times. Can’t blame him too much though, he’s only fifteen.” Pretty Boy reached over to the nearest table and grabbed a bunch of napkins. Yuuri accepted them gratefully, trying not to think too much about how good that accent sounded and how stupid his own accent did. L’s were a real bitch. “Oh, it’s all right. It was my fault anyway, I, um, I wasn’t paying enough attention.” As Yuuri dried himself off (his poor shirt was ruined), Pretty Boy decided to strike up a conversation. The line was long, and Teenage Angst would, in his own words, “Watch hell freeze over before he turned down a replacement coffee at no expense to him, even from a complete stranger”. Yuuri decided that this kid was perfectly eloquent, that wasn’t his problem; he was crass. Not that Yuuri particularly cared.

“So, are you in college? You look about the right age.” Pretty Boy and his silken voice were doing… things to Yuuri. Capital T “Things”. Things he aggressively did not want to acknowledge. Things he had never really experienced before.

“Yeah, I’m at UPenn. I’m in my last year of a 5-year program that specializes in bilingual authorship. In theory, I’m going to be spat directly into the hands of some publishing house with a nice diploma and a couple good words under my belt right after graduation. The requirements boil down to complete fluency in at least two languages and we have to write ourselves a novel in the second language by the graduation date.” Yuuri kicked himself mentally. Why did he just spit out a bunch of personal information when a simple “yeah” would have sufficed? Nice going, Katsuki.

“Oh, I know that program! It’s actually what I applied for when I came here, but my English wasn’t quite good enough at the time to get the ball rolling, so I went into literary research instead. What’s your book going to be about?” _Oh my god, he’s interested! Yes! This means I have to respond like I know what’s happening! No!_ Yuuri thought for a moment on how to phrase his book idea in English. A task that has proven tough before. The line progressed, and Yuuri noticed how fluidly Pretty Boy moved. And how tall he was. And how nicely his hair caught the light. Oh, boy.

“Well, uh, I guess it’s a journey of self-discovery? The main character is a girl just going into high school from a place where she was entirely isolated, generally without friends and where she was pretty miserable. When she moves up into high school, however, she meets people that truly love her and she finds her passion for helping people through the power of language. She has some trauma freshman year that puts her off course, has a lot of personal trouble sophomore year, and really starts beginning to blossom in her junior year.” Yuuri gave himself another mental pat on the back for not lapsing into Japanese. The line progressed. There were only four more people before it was their turn to order.

“And senior year?” Pretty Boy asked. It seemed to Yuuri that this stunning person was, dare he say, actually interested in his work.

“I, uh, I haven’t really gotten to that part yet. I’m only a little under halfway through junior year.” Pretty Boy nodded.

“Understandable. Well, you still have time.” The line progressed. Yuuri glanced up at the fascinating(ly beautiful) silver hair next to him. “Oh!” Pretty Boy exclaimed, and Yuuri jumped a little bit, pointedly averting his gaze. “I can’t believe it! I’ve completely forgotten to introduce myself! My name is Viktor Nikiforov, and the angry teen over there is Yuri Plisetsky. I wish I could write, it’s always been a dream of mine; but alas I must make due as but a lowly editor. It’s nice to meet you, mister…?” Pretty Bo- _Viktor_ , Yuuri chided himself (a good name for an even better face, said the little voice in the back of his head), extended his hand. Yuuri clasped it and gave it a firm shake.

“Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Well, Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor said, flashing a million-watt smile that made Yuuri’s knees just the tiniest bit weak, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

“Yours too.” To be blunt, Yuuri did not want to let go of Viktor’s hand. But, life continues on, and the line progressed one final time. It was their turn to order.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Yuri Plisetsky stepped in between Yuuri and Viktor.

“Stop making gross eye contact and mushy conversation, will you? It’s disgusting. Half double decaf half-caff with a twist of lemon.”

“Name?”  
“Yuri.”  
_What did this kid just order?_ Yuuri wondered, handing the cashier a ten and getting a meager pittance of change and a receipt in return.

“Alright, well, we best be going, Mr. Katsuki.” Viktor placed a warm hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Again, it was lovely to meet you.” He grabbed Yuuri’s hand, placing something that felt like laminated cardstock in his palm. “Here’s my business card. I hope to see you around!” Another blinding smile and with the chime of the doorbell, he was gone. Yuuri looked at the business card, a ten dollar bill falling out from behind it.

“Rostelecom Publishing House… Rosetelecom Publishing House?! He’s an editor for Rostelecom? That’s no lowly editor.” Yuuri gaped. A phone number had been sharpied on in bubbly handwriting with a little note that said “Don’t be afraid to call!- Viktor N.” It felt kind of like something out of a girly comic book.

Wow, was Phichit going to have a hayday with this.

And oh my, did he.

“Yuuri Katsuki, you’re a madman! You met the next in line for one of the most prestigious publishing houses ever by bumping into his little cousin, who spilled coffee all over you, made you pay for a replacement, and while in line you bonded with THE Viktor Nikiforov, editing legend and heartbreaker extraordinaire! I’m so sad I wasn’t there to see it!” Phichit Chulanont, age twenty-one, modern history major and semi-professional Instagramer, laughed so hard at the idea of his roommate, Yuuri Katsuki, age twenty-three, semi-professional awkward boy, in this wild situation that he ran out of air.

“Oh. Is he a big deal? I know Rostelecom is enormous, but that doesn’t mean much to me.” Yuuri pulled off his ruined shirt and grabbed another one from his dresser. Pity. He quite liked that shirt.

“You don’t know? Viktor Nikiforov is the heir to the whole Rostelecom enterprise, and he’s only twenty-seven! That’s unheard of! He’s also managed to pin down authors like Christophe Giacometti and Jean-Jacques Leroy, who never take editors; he’s truly incredible. Honestly, Yuuri, and you call yourself a literature student.” Phichit tsk’d and Yuuri popped his head through the top of his shirt.

 _Huh. That is pretty impressive._ “Anyway, it’s not like I’ll see him again. I know he gave me his business card, but I’m so busy already that I doubt I’ll be able to call him.” He flopped down onto his exceedingly soft duvet, placing his phone on the bedside table. It dinged, informing him of an email. He picked it up and squinted at the screen.

To: [ YKatsuki@mail.upenn.edu ](mailto:YKatsuki@upenn.edu)

From: [ CCelestino@mail.upenn.edu ](mailto:CCelestino@mail.upenn.edu)

Subject: Professional Editor Assignments

Hello Students,

As you know, each of you is going to be assigned a professional editor from a publishing house to assist with your final projects. Attached is the list of editor assignments. Everyone will be meeting with their editor in Monday’s three-hour period. Please dress appropriately and treat your editors with respect, they are your new best friends. Remember, they are doing this on their time, not yours.

Thanks,

Celestino

 

PEA.docx

Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov (Rostelecom Publishing House)

 

Yuuri’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open.

“What?” Phichit sat down next to him.

“The editor assignments just came out.”

“And?”

Yuuri turned the screen so his roommate could see the document. Phichit grinned.

“Oh. This is gonna be good.”

 

Elsewhere, Viktor lounged on his sofa, looking at the same document. He smiled, scritching the brown poodle next to him behind the ears. “Well, Makkachin, it looks like I sent in that request just in time, huh? This is going to be interesting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi! Thanks so much for reading!  
> I honestly don't know where this is going to go from here, I wrote it out of spite in about two hours and had my best friend (snowybunby.tumblr.com) beta it at legit 1 am so. I will update when I can, but academia is upon me and man it is not fun BUT nonetheless I will try to keep the ball rolling here! I know nothing about any courses offered at UPenn, so this is not an actual class I am basing it off of. It's honestly a conglomeration of a bunch of courses I've taken/heard about in my life that happened to fit my needs. Those emails also lead to nowhere, so please don't email them.  
> Kudos and comments make my world go round.  
> Stay cozy,  
> freshnams
> 
> If you would like to contact me, please do so through joonipers.tumblr.com! I would love to chat.


End file.
